


we walk this path

by finkpishnets



Category: Spring Awakening - Sheik/Sater
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-04
Updated: 2010-12-04
Packaged: 2017-10-28 13:07:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/308177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/finkpishnets/pseuds/finkpishnets
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Modern day boarding school AU. In which Hanschen's fully ready to admit he's a slut, and falling in love with Ernst is not part of the plan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we walk this path

**Author's Note:**

> For the hs_bingo prompt 'reputations'. Okay, so, this is actually just a short version of what it's supposed to be. I planned it two years ago as a much bigger verse in which every character had their own interweaving plot and there was a lot more angsting and working to sort out feelings, and then they shut the London show and my heart broke and I didn't want to write it anymore because I was apparently genuinely grieving. Anyway, one day I might still write it, but for now there's this. I hope it's okay anyway. (On that note, yeah, my cast is the Original London Cast '09, not that it matters.)

Hanschen has never pretended to be anything he’s not; he’s fully ready to admit that he’s maybe a bit of a slut - okay, a lot of one really, but he just happens to know that people find him attractive and he likes sex, and, well, the two work wonderfully in each other’s favour. There had even been that time at the beginning of last year with Melchior in the gym showers which was one for the records.

His biggest challenge to date though is Bobby Maler, who, aside from being the school’s star athlete, also has the hottest arse Hanschen’s ever seen, and the fact that he’s still an inch away from putting out is gradually driving him crazy. He hasn’t spent so much time locked in his room since he was thirteen and waiting for his growth spurt and feeling only marginally guilty for stealing his dad’s Playboys.

So, really, it’s all Bobby Maler’s fault that Hanschen’s in his room debating the merits of just taking a cold shower when he makes the mistake of looking out of his window and sees Ernst Robel walking back towards the school in the rain, white shirt stuck to his skin and content smile on his face, and it feels rather like he’s been hit by a truck.

Ernst Robel is not Hanschen’s type; in fact, he is so _far_ from Hanschen’s type that he has to wonder whether it’s just tiredness and horniness and damn _hormones_ colliding into something completely insane, except the next day the feelings are still there, and that’s –

Well, it’s just not _right_.

And in Hanschen’s experience, there’s a simple way to solve these kinds of problems.

 

+

 

“Um,” Ernst says when Hanschen Rillow corners him on his way to class. “Hello?”

“Hi,” Hanschen says, and his smile is downright predatory. Ernst gulps.

“Can I help you?” Ernst asks because his mother always taught him to be polite, and Hanschen laughs, pressing in even closer until Ernst can feel the way his chest rises and falls against his own.

“I thought we could study later,” Hanschen says, and Ernst frowns.

“Sure?”

“Great,” Hanschen says, and then he steps back, offers Ernst one last intimidating smile and walks away.

Ernst isn’t entirely sure what just happened.

 

+

 

Ernst is still wondering whether Hanschen might have been _on something_ this morning when he walks into his room and promptly does a double take.

“Hi,” Thea says, blinking up at him from where she’s arranging shells on his floor.

“Hi,” Ernst says, because he’s not entirely sure what else to say, and do those spell out _marry me?_

“I’ll just-“ Thea says. “Um, bye.”

“Bye,” Ernst says, but she’s already gone.

There’s sand everywhere. He really doesn’t want to know what she’d been thinking, but at least it’s better than the flowers tied to the bedposts. His damn allergies had kept him in the nurse’s office for two days that time.

 

+

 

Ernst isn’t actually expecting Hanschen to knock on his door after dinner, books in hand.

He’s expecting the kiss even less.

The sex- well, he’s stopped thinking entirely by then.

 

+

 

Hanschen doesn’t know what he’d expected sleeping with Ernst to be like, but it hadn’t been the way he’d moulded against him, soft and pliant and willing, tiny moans escaping his lips that Hanschen wanted to swallow and keep forever because they were _so pretty_. It hadn’t been the way Ernst’s eyes glazed over, his pupils shot, and not a single ‘ _are you sure?_ ’ being spilt between them.

So, yes, the sex was unexpected and amazing and Hanschen’s happily surprised.

He’s not so happy that the feelings, however, have decided not only to stick around but to take up permanent residence somewhere deep inside his chest.

It’s all starting to feel a little bit too much like _love_ , and that’s just fucking terrifying.

 

+

 

“I hate you,” Thea hisses when Hanschen sits down at dinner, and everyone looks just as confused as he feels.

“Um,” he says, “okay?”

“Ernst is mine,” she goes on, and _ah_ , yes, that explains it. “We’re supposed to get married and have two boys and a girl and buy a little farm where we can keep pigs and sheep and chickens and have picnics on Sundays.”

“Yeah,” Hanschen says, “you do know Ernst’s _gay_ right?”

Thea glares at him, and, wow, okay, so she’s actually kind of scary. Everyone’s seen the hearts carved into every tree in the courtyard, _T+E_ stark and deep and the work of too many hours, and it’s impossible not to hear the stories of her stalking, but Hanschen’s always thought she was just a bit crazy and obsessive, he hadn’t realised she was fucking _psychotic_.

“He’s mine,” Thea repeats, and as uneasy as she makes him there’s no way Hanschen’s backing down from this one.

“No,” Hanschen says, smile sickly sweet, “I’ll think you’ll find he’s _mine_. At least, that’s what he was saying last night.”

No one laughs when she throws her orange juice in his face and storms off but it’s probably a close thing.

 

+

 

Ernst’s spent the majority of his life perfectly happy being mostly invisible; he has friends, passable grades, and a mother who sends him homemade cookies and asks him frequently about when he’s going to bring a nice young man home for the holidays.

But now there’s Hanschen, and everything’s kind of gone to hell. Well, the kind of hell that involves lots and lots of hot kissing sessions in locked dorm rooms and many a cold shower because there’s only so much time between classes and mealtimes and sports and study periods and not a lot of that can be spent doing the things Ernst would _like_ to be doing. All the time. Um.

The thing is, Hanschen’s gorgeous and cool and popular and _experienced_ and Ernst’s _not_ , and he’s more than a little worried that he’s maybe about to get his heart broken.

It hurts even more than he expects when he’s right.

 

+

 

Hanschen’s an idiot. A _slut_ and an idiot, and this time he’s not remotely proud of his own reputation.

The thing is, he’d been watching the way Ernst chewed on the end of his pen in class and instead of dirty thoughts he’d just been completely and ridiculously _endeared_ , and when he’d caught himself, realised what he was doing, all he’d been able to think was ‘ _shit, this is it_.’

And of course, _of course_ , that was when Bobby Maler decided that cornering him in the hallway and backing him behind the statue of the school founder was a good idea.

 _‘I’m in love with Ernst,’_ Hanschen had thought and kissed Bobby harder, slid his hand down the back of his ridiculously tight uniform trousers and let it go too, too far until it had slipped into _all the way_.

“I’m sorry,” Hanschen says, watching the way Ernst’s eyes blink back tears, the way he looks _resigned_ like he doesn’t know how amazing he is, how much he’s worth. “I’m so sorry.”

“Go away,” Ernst says, small and timid and it makes Hanschen wince.

Hanschen goes because Ernst wants him to, because this is all his fault and he’ll do whatever Ernst says as long as there’s the chance of his looking happy again, like Hanschen isn’t everything bad he expected him to be.

“I love you,” he says when he gets to the door, because he does and Ernst deserves to hear it even if it doesn’t help.

Ernst doesn’t say anything back and Hanschen doesn’t expect him to.

 

+

 

“Hey,” Ilse says, sitting down next to Ernst.

He gives her a wide smile that’s only ninety percent fake and goes back to picking at blades of grass and shredding them between his fingers. He’s been hiding out behind the school for the last thirty minutes trying to work up the courage to go to dinner and failing miserably.

“How’re you doing?” Ilse asks, watching his fingers.

“I’m fine,” he says, but she just tilts her head to the side and raises an eyebrow. “I’m _totally_ fine. Completely and utterly _fine_. The finest I could possibly be.”

“So, are you trying to tell me that you’ve not spent the entire afternoon listening to I Won’t Say I’m in Love on repeat and eating your own weight in your mum’s oatmeal raisin cookies?”

“How the hell do you _know_ that?” Ernst says before his brain catches up and starts screaming _denydenydeny!_

Ilse rolls her eyes. “Because I’m a genius and I know you. Also, you have crumbs on your tie.”

She watches him for a moment, waiting for him to say what’s on his mind, and Ernst wishes possibly for the first time ever that his friends didn’t care quite so much about what was happening in his life.

“Hanschen’s an idiot,” he says eventually, and Ilse just smiles softly at him.

“Yes,” she says, “he is.”

“I thought he really…I thought he _liked_ me,” he tells her and he can feel his face turning red from embarrassment, because _seriously_ , he’s such a moron.

“I know,” Ilse says, and when she wraps her arms around him, Ernst lets himself fall forward, burying his face in her shoulder. She smells kind of like vanilla and it’s soft and comforting and for a moment he can pretend like he’s not the world’s biggest idiot for believing that Hanschen Rillow actually cared about him, until Ilse says, “If it’s any consolation, I think he really _does_ like you.”

“Well he has a really stupid way of showing it.”

“Yeah,” Ilse says with a sigh, “but he’s a boy. Boys are notoriously bad at expressing their emotions.”

“Oh, _thanks_ ,” Ernst says with a scoff, and Ilse rolls hers eyes.

“You know what I mean.”

“Sure. What are you doing here anyway?”

“I was looking for Moritz,” she says casually, inspecting her fingernails, and Ernst may have his moments but he’s not _actually_ dumb.

“One of those boys who’s notoriously bad at expressing their emotions?” he asks and Ilse’s lips quirk as she fights back a smile.

“Hmm.” Her eyes glint secretly, and Ernst wonders not for the first time whether Ilse is actually magic. “Not to me, of course. But bad at it all the same.”

“He’s probably in the dining hall,” Ernst says, and Ilse nods.

“I’ll just wait for him here,” she says. “Don’t want to explain to Ms. Dodds why I’m on school grounds again.”

“None of the teachers really mind,” Ernst tells her, and Ilse smiles.

“I know,” she says, “but still.”

“I still have some cookies left,” Ernst says, “if you can’t find Moritz.”

Ilse grins and presses a kiss into his cheek.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she says, and they go back to staring at the grass.

 

+

 

Moritz and Melchior are looking at Hanschen like he’s grown another head.

“ _What?_ ” he says when they’ve not said anything in twenty minutes and even _he’s_ beginning to feel self-conscious.

“You have _feelings_ ,” Mortiz says, and then blushes as he tries to make it sound less harsh. “Um, I mean-“

“No,” Melchior interrupts, “that’s pretty much it.”

“Of course I have feelings,” Hanschen says, rolling his eyes, “I’m not actually a robot you know. Otto was dangerously high when he told people that.”

“Yeah,” Melchior says, and there’s something suspiciously like a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth, “but it was still more likely than _this_.”

“You like Ernst,” Moritz says, shell-shocked, and Hanschen shakes his head because they might as well be factual about this.

“No,” he says, “I _love_ Ernst.”

“Shit,” Moritz says, and Hanschen shrugs, because _yeah_.

“So,” Melchior says, and this time it’s definitely a smirk. “What the fuck are you going to do about it?”

 

+

 

“Hi,” Hanschen says cautiously, keeping his escape routes firmly in sight just in case.

“What do _you_ want?” Thea says, refusing to look up from her copy of _Twilight_ , and, oh, okay, that kind of explains a lot.

“I need your help,” Hanschen says, and the words feel physically painful as they make their way past his lips. They must be as strange to hear because Thea’s head shoots up and she stares at him with wide eyes.

“You…what?”

Hanschen cringes. “Look,” he says, “you know Ernst better than anyone, and I need some advice.”

“Why would I help you?” Thea asks, and she looks half like she wants to preen at the recognition and half like she wants to hit him over the head with her crappy teen romance novel.

“Because you love him,” Hanschen says, “and so do I.”

Thea stares at him for a moment, and Hanschen thinks it’s probably the first time either of them have ever really _acknowledged_ the other.

“Talk to him,” Thea says eventually, and Hanschen frowns, is about to butt in with a _‘don’t you think I’ve already_ tried _that?_ ’ when she continues. “I mean actually corner him and tell him how you feel. All of it. He doesn’t like big gestures – I should know – but _honesty_ …that’s kind of his thing.”

“Right,” Hanschen says, “I- Thank you.”

Thea nods once and then glares at him. “Now fuck off,” she says, “I was just getting to the good part.”

Hanschen goes.

 

+

 

Ernst isn’t entirely sure how Hanschen thinks _locking him in his room_ is conducive to being forgiven.

“Let me _out_ ,” he says, kicking at the door even though it does nothing except make a dull thumping noise and hurt his toe.

“Not until you listen to me,” Hanschen says, and Ernst glares even though he can’t see it. “Also, I stole your iPod and your laptop so you can’t drown me out.”

“LALALALALALA,” Ernst shouts because they’ve passed the point of petty anyway.

“I’ll just shout louder,” Hanschen says. “I didn’t have asthma attacks as a child so you know I can.”

“ _Fine_ ,” Ernst says, pouting as he sits back down on his bed, arms folded.

There’s a long pause, like Hanschen isn’t sure what to say (or like he’s actually walked off but Ernst sort of doesn’t think he’s that cruel, not really, not anymore).

“I fucked up,” Hanschen says eventually, and it’s quiet, like his cheek is pressed against the door. “I fucked up and I am really sorry. I don’t normally mean that, I’ve never seen the point in apologies, but now- I am so, so sorry I hurt you. I didn’t mean to.”

“Yeah,” Ernst says, “but you did.”

“I know,” Hanschen says, “and I thought that maybe I should just leave you alone but I’m selfish. I did it because I was scared, and I know that’s a shit excuse but it’s true. I don’t do guilt and I don’t do fear and I don’t do _love_ except you make me feel them _all_ , and that’s-“

“Scary?” Ernst says, and Hanschen laughs bitterly.

“Yeah.”

“The thing is,” Ernst says, and it comes out too quietly at first, his throat closing up, and he coughs and tries again. “The thing is it’s scary for _everyone_ but we all still do it, we all still let ourselves get close to people, because sometimes it’s _worth it_. So, okay, you were scared, but everyone feels like that and they don’t run off and sleep with the first pretty person that walks their way.”

“I know,” Hanschen says, and he actually sounds desperate, and Ernst…Ernst can feel himself cracking, just a little bit. “I’m a selfish, spineless idiot, and I’m sorry.”

Ernst bites his lip, stares at the back of the door and thinks about the way Hanschen made him feel, like he was something special, like he was worth the attention, and how he feels about Hanschen, the feelings that keep coming up in poems and songs and films.

“Open the door,” he says, and there only a second before he hears the click of the key and it’s swinging carefully open.

“Hi,” Hanschen says, and he looks the least _Hanschen_ Ernst has ever seen him.

“Okay,” he says, and Hanschen frowns, confused. “If we do this, we do it _my_ way.”

Hanschen looks at him, surprised and relieved and a little disbelieving, and Ernst thinks maybe people assume that the confident don’t suffer from a lack of self-belief too, and he should really remember that.

“Of course,” Hanschen says, and his fingers twitch like he wants to reach out but he isn’t sure he’s allowed.

Ernst kisses him first this time, feels Hanschen’s sigh of relief against his lips, and controls the pace. “I love you too, you know,” he says into the space between them, and feels Hanschen’s fingers tighten against his hips, “but if you ever cheat on me again I will set Thea on you.”

“I won’t,” Hanschen promises, and Ernst may be foolish and he may be idealistic but he’s also _hopeful_ because he believes him, “and it’s only partly because that girl scares the crap out of me.”

“It’s her gift,” Ernst agrees, and then kisses him again just because he can.


End file.
